


Clinical Detachment

by afteriwake



Series: Stuff Of Improbable Legends [112]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autopsies, Broken Heart, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fear, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Loss of loved one, Mentions of Murder, Nightmares, Not Really Character Death, Past Molly Hooper/Khan Noonien Singh, Poor Molly, Roleplay Logs, Worst Fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unthinkable has happened and Molly's worst fear has come true: Khan has come back and killed Leonard, and she needs to perform the autopsy. But can she? Or does she really need to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clinical Detachment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sideofrawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sideofrawr/gifts).



> So **sideofrawr** sent me four ships and four picks for the [sentence starter writing prompts](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/139995233693/writing-prompts) for this series and the minute I saw she picked this one this fic sprung to mind. We've had conversations about mayb doing a worst fear type plot and it's been mentioned in game recently that Molly's worst fear is Khan coming to New Orleans, and so I decided "What the heck, let's expand on it" and wrote this. Mwuahaha...enjoy.

Shaking, her fingers brushed over the cold lifeless body. She had to think about him that way or she’d never get through it. She knew there were any number of reasons why she of all people shouldn’t be doing this autopsy, but as a general rule in Lawrence the displaced who had been involved in law enforcement had handled the various things that involved their fellow displaced, and she supposed that would follow suit in New Orleans. As the resident coroner in the city among the displaced, that meant if one of her own died, she should be the one to do the autopsy.

Even if it was going to shatter what was left of her heart into a million pieces.

She let her fingertips brush along his cheek. Just yesterday, there had been warmth there. She knew if his eyes had been open, they would be cloudy now when yesterday there would have been a sparkle in them. Yesterday Leonard McCoy had been alive.

Now he was on her table, and she had to perform his autopsy.

And it was all _his_ fault.

Any traces of love she had left for Khan had been wiped away in an instant when he had advanced on Leonard and grabbed his head between his hands, twisting his head and snapping his neck. She knew she would see that image, hear that sound for years. Quite possibly forever. She had been whisked away by James before Khan got any ideas of doing the same to her but not before they locked eyes for a moment. There had been no trace of love for her left in his eyes, just a sense of possessiveness: she was his, only his, and Leonard had dared to lay a hand on what was his. He had to pay the price.

And then Rose and the grown versions of her children were on him. She didn’t stick around to see what had happened to him, but Jemma and John had said it was brutal. Khan would heal, she knew he would, but for the moment Jemma had him under heavy sedation while Daisy and Zane rigged up a cryogenic stasis unit similar to something Daisy had been in at one point back home. He would never be awake again if they were lucky.

That was good.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

She wanted him dead. She wanted him on the slab instead of Leonard. She wanted to take her scalpel and carve the Y-incision into his chest, she wanted to take the bone saw to him, she wanted to crack his ribs to remove his internal organs to catalogue stomach contents. She wanted to tear him apart and then stich him back together and then shelve him away to be buried or burnt, never to harm another person again.

Let it be Khan there, not Leonard. Not him.

God, it wasn’t fair. They had spent so long denying how they truly felt about each other, and so little time together in the great, grand scope of things. And she was left with a large, gaping wound in her heart. What she had felt after Khan had been taken, the festering wound, was _nothing_ compared to this. This felt as though half her soul had been ripped away from her, as though she’d never be complete again. She’d lost her best friend, the love of her life and the man she’d crossed three different universes to find in one fell swoop and it just wasn’t bloody _fair_.

But she had a job to do. She could go back to James and Rose’s home afterward, break down there, sob until she had no tears left. Drown herself in bottle after bottle of wine if she chose. Go back to the cabin and surround herself in their life, their things when she felt ready enough. But first, she had to get through this part, the hard part.

She picked up the scalpel from the tray and then let her hand hover over his bare chest. Her hand was shaking ever so slightly, and she had to make that stop before she made the first incision. She knew Khan would never pay in a court of law, but she had to make sure that she followed all the legalities. Do this right, do this properly. She lowered her hand and pressed the blade to his skin, and then stopped as a tear fell.

She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t.

She let go of the scalpel and instead draped herself over the body, hugging him tightly, and sobbed. She sobbed for everything she had lost, for everything they could have had, for everything they _should_ have had. She sobbed for a long while, great ugly tears, and when they tapered off her throat felt raw and she knew she must look a fright. She wiped away the tear residue with the back of her hand and then put the scalpel back on the tray, giving Leonard one last look before pulling the sheet back over his face. She would have someone else do this for her. When she was done she turned and made her way to leave, but a sound made her stop. She turned back to look and then she felt two hands on the side of her face and her head began to be twisted to the side.

She sat bolt upright in bed then, clawing at the sheets and quilt, pushing them away, turning to look around frantically. She wasn’t in the morgue. No, she was in her bedroom in the cabin. And after a moment she felt someone sit up beside her, a pair of arms slide around her and pull her close, a nose nuzzle into the crook of her neck. “You have one of those worst fear dreams?” she heard Leonard say from next to her.

Relief flooded through her. He was alive. He was alive and he was next to her, touching her. He was warm and vibrant and _alive_. She pulled away from him and he lifted his head up, frowning for a moment before she framed his face in her hands and kissed him with every ounce of passion she possessed. He responded in kind, crushing her against him before lowering her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress. When they finally pulled apart, she reached up to brush a strand away from his face. “Don’t you ever die on me, Leonard,” she said. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’ll do my best to let you die first,” he said. “A long, long time in the future. And I’ll go right after you.”

“Good,” she said before pulling him in for another kiss, this one just as passionate as the first. She needed to reassure herself that he was there and alive and nothing and no one would take him away from her, not tonight, not any time soon, she realized as she let her fingers slide down his bare chest, letting her fingernails scratch slightly and appreciating the groan that came from him. Tonight she needed reassurance, and she knew he would give it to her, because that was how he was, and that was why she loved him.


End file.
